


Retrospect

by VonHenrik



Series: The Jacksepticeye Cinematic Redux [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood and Injury, Car Accidents, Child Death, Depression, Dysfunctional Family, Egotober, Egotober 2019, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mayhem 2019, Other, Psychological Horror, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2020-12-14 21:38:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21022664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VonHenrik/pseuds/VonHenrik
Summary: retrospect [ˈretrəˌspekt]n.a survey or review of a past course of events or period of time.





	1. Walking On A Thin Line

“I have lost confidence in myself.”  
― Robert Louis Stevenson, _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_

* * *

Chase Brody wakes up in the middle of the night and considers bashing his own head in.

He wonders if being headless would prevent him from having nightmares, or if it would simply give him a bad headache.

He still imagines Stacy asleep beside him and decides against it until he can see the bat in the corner a bit easier come morning, and ultimately goes back to sleep.

***

Chase Brody's day starts at 6am, tripping over himself and the empty bottles of Toki strewn across the floor. It's a miracle none of them have broken yet, that he hasn't already skewered himself with the pieces. He blinks, his muscles sagging on his bones as he creaks and groans out the door and down the hallway in an over-sized MTV tee saturated with the smell of expired weed. He hadn't showered in three days, barely even remembered coming home or where he'd been for the last week or so. Time was uncertain, Chase even moreso as he stumbled towards the fridge, digging through empty condiment bottles and rotten fruit, reaching for the milk at the back of the fridge before realizing there was NO milk in the back of the fridge.

This left him with one of two options: break into his neighbor's house and steal a cup of milk for the day, or else be left with dry cereal for the rest of the week.

Normally, Chase had little to no qualms with home invasion, especially since his neighbors always left the back door unlocked. In his mind, they were only ever asking for trouble, and as much as he thought about it, not once had Chase bothered with any of their valuables. A block of cheddar here, a few cups of Insta-Mac there, digging through the candy bowl as Halloween approached and watching them blame their own children for it. None of it really mattered to him; they weren't his children, and they certainly weren't going to starve any time soon.

_One of these days they're gonna get a dog,_ Chase thought, grinning to himself as he scampered up the divide, over the top of the fence and crashed into the patio.

"Shit!" Chase hissed, already feeling the flush of heat in his knees where he'd landed, quickly making his way to the back door and shoving it open with a grunt as he burst into the kitchenette, limping towards the fridge and throwing it open with a SMACK! 

The milk was front and center, almost completely empty, and whether or not he was hearing things, Chase decided to grab it and run, taking time to shut the fridge quietly before breaking out in a scant limp across the tile, through the back, chucking the milk over the fence before scrambling back up as quick as he could, this time landing on his shoulder with a grunt as he lay there panting, taking a moment to steady his breath.

_Some adrenaline junkie,_ scoffed a voice. He was starting to hear them more and more, and they were progressively getting meaner.

But none of that mattered. Not right now. He had enough milk to last him through the week, and then hopefully he would finally get his paycheck in the mail without having to resort to petty theft in order to fucking eat.

***

"What do you mean discontinued!?"

"I'm sorry, Mister Brody, but we simply don't have the funding we need to continue-"

Chase went numb. He had managed to get to the volunteer center early enough to get his paycheck from the lobby only to find there was no lobby nor paycheck waiting for him, assumed they might be remodeling and took the elevator up to the second floor to talk with his supervisor to see if maybe she had his paycheck instead, only to find everyone packing up their stuff.

_ Maybe they're doing a full scale remodel,_ Chase had thought, increasingly anxious as he made his way towards the main office, trading sideways glances with each of his coworkers as he swallowed, opened the door and asked about his paycheck.

"-have no choice but to shut down and be out by the end of the month."

"B-but doesn't the state," stammered Chase, desperate for an alternative. "Can't they, like, do somethin' about it, raise some money or somethin'?"

"I'm afraid it's the state that cut our funds in the first place," she continued. "They considered it a liability, a 'threat to greater society,' I believe was how he phrased it."

Chase was horrified.

"Ma'am please," he whispered. "I need this job- I have _kids_-"

"I empathize, Mister Brody, I really do. You were one of the best people we had working here. We lost a good worker, a good _man_. But the situation remains; we simply have no means of paying you or any of our other volunteers, nor do we have anywhere near the resources we would need to continue from this point onward."

"O...kay, what about my paych-"

"Unfortunately your paycheck was seized alongside all our other assets. Any further questions will have to be taken up with the state."

"But-"

"Goodbye, Mister Brody. You have until the end of the month to gather your belongings."

All Chase could do was stare in horrified silence as he was ushered out of the office. 


	2. Never Let Me Down Again

COUNTY OF LOS ANGELES  
SHERIFF'S DEPARTMENT  
COURT SERVICES DEVISION

**NOTICE TO VACATE**  
CASE NUMBER: 14052018  
TO: Judgement debtor, members of the judgement debtor's household and any occupants residing with the judgement debtor

By virtue of a _**Writ of Possession of Real Property**,_ a copy of which is attached

YOU ARE ORDERED TO VACATE THE PREMISES DESCRIBED IN THE WRIT NOT LATER THAN  September , 2019

SHERIFF'S DEPARTMENT  
INGLEWOOD, CA, 90301

* * *

Chase decided to clear his head.

He didn't want to think about how hard it would be to try and find another job. He certainly didn't want to think about the eviction notice waiting for him back at the house, and at this point, it was hard to forget about his next door neighbors and their own stupid children as they passed him sitting in his car, riffling through the trash for something other than a half-empty bottle of Toki. He wanted something a bit more permanent, something that would keep his own thoughts quiet...

_Stupid fucking families,_ Chase thought, twisting the keys in the ignition. His throat was already raw from screaming, now resigned to silence as the car roared to life with enough noise for him to scream and no one notice.

Again.

_Stupid fucking families and their stupid fucking kids with their stupid fucking governments and their stupid fucking money_.

He slammed on the gas and tore down the street well past the recommended speed limit, flipping off his neighbor's house before he turned a corner and sped towards the highway.

***

The Pacific Coast Highway was a popular tourist trap, even for the people who lived there. It brought in business from all over the country with its segway into Los Angeles across the San Gabriel River, with plenty of registered stops along the way. 

Chase never liked tourists. They made for bad traffic and awkward dinner conversation as they muddled over the menus and reminisced about a city and a decade that never belonged to them in the first place. He drove with his eyes forward and snorted at all the people strewn along the coastline taking selfies for their travel blogs, leaving them behind in his rear-view mirror where they belonged. Instead he sped along at a very legal 83mph and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest, weighing down on the gas.

84, 85, 86. 

At this point, he wouldn't feel too bad if he caused a wreck, send someone careening over the edge into the churning, frothing waters of the Pacific. Hell, if it was him, he wouldn't even complain. Maybe death would finally give him some peace of mind.

87, 88, 89.

Chase's foot never let up, careening down the highway and into his latest misfortune, watching the world become a blur behind him as he hoped, even prayed for a collision course. Someone had to be listening, if not God, then the devil.

"I know you're back there," he mumbled, turning fast and sharp past Santa Monica Pier. He didn't bother looking; he knew the devil was listening.


	3. Interlude (White Room)

_ Francis drifts in and out of consciousness. She doesn’t know what’s going on around her, only that her daddy’s arms are strong, and that people seem to be shouting. She tries to blink but her eyes are swollen, and it hurts to breath._

* * *

_ Chase knows they don’t have a lot of time, quickening his pace with Stacy in tow as he throws his shoulder into the entrance where nurses are waiting and start to assess the damage. It hurts to let his little girl go, even for a second. _

* * *

_ Stacy’s heels are red with friction, having just left work to meet Chase at the hospital. She still smells like her favourite perfume, and wastes no time ushering the kids in the car where Chase is already waiting, his head buried in his hands. She notices they’re covered in blood._

* * *

_ Peter is six years old and knows that something’s wrong, but none of the adults will tell him why. Not even Georgie, who sits there acting like he knows what’s going on and simply refuses to tell him out of spite. He’s young, but he isn’t stupid, although he does notice that daddy’s hands are very red. He thinks he might have been painting again. Maybe he accidentally swallowed some._

* * *

_ George can’t stop thinking about the blood. He’s gotten minor scrapes and bruises, but nothing like this. Not like the smell. So hot and sticky, and salty too. He can smell the heat and it’s freaking him out, but he can’t freak out. Not now. Not when Peter and Mom both need him. He wants to go and comfort Dad, but the smell, he thinks, is more than he knows how to handle right now._


	4. Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word

The sun was setting over the Santa Monica mountains by the time Chase arrived in Topanga. He made sure to leave his wallet in the car, and that the car itself was unlocked, almost willing something to happen to it in his absence.

At this point it hardly mattered; he had no money to his name anymore, no real means of starting a new life anywhere, almost entirely resigned to dying alone in the forest if he didn’t pity the staff enough to turn up dead on their watch. Nevermind the fact that he was here after hours; he couldn’t bear to get them all in trouble like that. They were simply too kind for him to repay them with blood on their hands.

Instead he wandered along the beaten path, his last bottle of Toki in hand as he veered away from the trail and into the thicket with the sun at his back.

* * *

_ “Everything’s gonna be okay,” Chase lies, brushing a bloodied strand of hair behind her ear. She can barely hear him, if at all, maybe barely even see him, but he isn’t just saying this to comfort her._

_ Stacy walks in with a hot cup of coffee in hand and sits in the seat beside her husband. The room is silent, save for the sound of hospital machinery, her vitals on display for them both to ignore. Neither of them wants to hope any more than is already acceptable, and the Brody family isn’t known for their optimism._

_ Georgie sits with Peter in the corner, more comfortable on the hardwood floor and away from all the noise and the smell of medication. He watches bubbles drift to the surface of her IV bag and can’t begin to imagine what it’s like to be lying there in her condition. All it does is make him sick, wanting to shut his eyes and ignore the world around him, except that he knows he’ll never be able to forget the sight of it. Of her._

_ Peter simply watches, unable to look away. He knows its rude to stare, but he can’t help it. No one wants to talk to him, and he knows better than to disturb Mommy and Daddy whenever they get like this. They aren’t arguing, but he still can’t figure out why Daddy is so tense. He’s definitely hungry though, wanting to ask where Mommy got something to drink, but he knows that Georgie is also tense, and he doesn’t want to leave him alone right now._

_ “Okay?” Chase repeats, as though he expects her to answer. He watches her good eye flutter in response, but she still has trouble breathing, unsure if she’s technically even conscious at this point. The nurses could probably tell him, but he doesn’t dare look away from his baby girl, even for a second._

_ He acknowledges Stacy, and Stacy understands that Chase is going to waste away watching their daughter fight for her life. She doesn’t want to fight with him here, doesn’t want to fight with him at all._

_ She’s ready to watch over them both._

_ The doctor comes in and it’s all a blur. No one keeps Chase away for very long. The nurses learn to work around him, only ever moving him when he knows he has to let them do their job. All the while he aches for her, immediately returns to her bedside and holds her hand in his. They talk to Stacy instead, and occasionally the nurse comes in with pudding for the kids. There’s a certain kind of pity that surrounds the circumstances of the Brody family, something that will continue to haunt the nurses who looked after their only daughter. They saw the look in her father’s eyes. Georgie will not be alone in his nightmares tonight._

* * *

He refused to drink again until he’d seen her grave with sober eyes.

Chase remembered how they looked at him when they admitted him into the park, almost surprised that he would turn up now, after all this time. He wondered if they’d presumed him dead already, as though he didn’t want to get his hopes up any more than he already had. No one ever really seemed to care about him anyways, not the people he wanted to. It was better this way, knowing he would always be disappointed.

_That’s right,_ said the voice. _Bet̛̙̱̯te͔̜r͜ this way_.

He should know better than to turn around. All it ever did was incentivize him.

Still, Chase couldn’t help himself, giving his demons yet another reason to exist as he turned around slowly, as though it would startle him otherwise. That even the sight of him might give Chase closure he knew he didn’t deserve.

Chase sighed. He would never be truly alone in this world. All he could do was grip his only bottle of Toki, as if to say _no sharing_. He could hear him laughing, echoing into oblivion as he disappeared with another exhale. He would give him his little moment, and then he would be back, and they would do it all over again.

If anything, Chase applauded him for his consistency.

He continued to make his way through the trees, deeper and deeper into the forest until he came to the stream that ran along the edge of the mountain. Eventually it would meet back up with the Canyon Trail, taking him out towards Quarry and even up north to the Santa Ynez Falls.

It'd be a good place to have an accident if it weren't for all the kids.

_No, _ thought Chase. _ We’re not doing this. Not here. _

He shook his head and made his way across the rocks.


	5. All I Want Is You

It was strange, having his thoughts to himself. It shouldn’t have been, but there were plenty of other things in his life that shouldn’t have been, things that kept him up at night. Better not to dwell on them now; she had suffered enough already.

Chase knelt down beside her, clearing away the weeds that laced the earth around it. Six stones high, reaching hungrily towards the sun. She was his Icarus, and she would fly forever.

"Cuiridh mi clach air do chàrn,” he whispered softly, remembering his mother’s words. It was children who were supposed to lose their parents, not the other way around.

He spent an eternity there beside her, sitting in the mud, imagining the life she could have lived. She smiled at him without a body to be buried, without a precious head to rest, little more than ashes, sent to die where she had been brought to live; surrounded by doctors in an ICU. It sat heavy in his throat, struggling to breath as he swallowed, trying not to choke over his daughter's last grave. He knew that if the sun set on him here, he would never live to see another sunrise, instead fumbling for the photograph he kept in his back pocket. It helped steady his hands, looking it over, every last line.

Even now, Stacy was beautiful. He could feel the wind in his hair from that fateful day, that beautiful, wonderful day where no one argued and everyone smiled, even Chase. He was barefoot on the beach, the sand between his toes as the sun set on Stacy and their beautiful baby girl, just two years old. Peter was starting preschool in just three weeks, already so smart for his age, and Francis had learned how to say her own name. She would hobble across the sand, naming rocks and hermit crabs "Fwancis" just like her, adopting siblings left and right before Stacy had chased her down the coast, scooping her up with a fit of giggles and Chase's old Polaroid flashing in the sunset. 

_I never loved you the way you deserved to be loved_. 

He kisses the memory of her one last time and finally buries his happiness. 

***

Chase wanders far enough away from Francis' grave before he starts to drink, as though he were ashamed of her spirit finding out. It doesn't comfort him, but it burns in the back of his throat, and he knows it's exactly what he deserves. With enough of it in his system it might eventually burn a hole through the skin, pouring out and watering the ground with all his internal waste. He was nothing, he meant nothing, and now he finally had nothing.

_ Nothing in this fucking bottle, _ he thought to himself. He had already cried enough to fill a second bottle, but it simply wouldn’t taste the same, drinking a salve. His tears were his memories, meant to be bittersweet, never truly painful. He didn’t look to alcohol for catharsis, something to ease the pain, to be comforted by it. Instead he craved it, drinking himself into a catatonic stupor because it felt good. He wanted to hurt, he wanted it to burn beyond reason, however real or imagined. Drinking made him susceptible to the pain he needed.

Even still, it was cold. Colder than he would have liked, almost soothing. Suddenly he wasn’t so hot anymore, able to breathe again and taste the wandering sage. He immediately went to take another drink-

***

Several thousand feet above the Los Angeles thoroughfare, Chase Brody materialized into being. 

For a moment there was nothing but silence and the concrete beneath his feet.

All at once the world roared to life around him, almost deafening as the traffic wailed from the street below, a twisting blur of angry metal speeding in all directions as Chase struggled to breath, almost tripping over himself as he stumbled towards the overlook, desperate for some sort of landmark, anything that told him where he was.

_Concrete, _thought Chase, taking note of the cars parked beside him. _I’m surrounded by concrete...a parking garage?_

He should have already figured it out by now. Chase had grown up here, surrounded by Downtown Los Angeles as a kid, free to go wherever he wanted with little to no consequence, provided he was home before sunset. There was nothing pretty about California after midnight, something that worried Chase far more than the threat of Topanga forest rangers finding him curled around his daughter’s cairn. 

Chase longed for whisky- no, something stronger than whisky right about now. Something illegal. Something green. Something impossible to procure in the United States that he now craved as he shied away from reality, instead reaching for his phone-

It was gone.

_His phone was fucking gone._

Chase was stranded on a rooftop with no phone, no money, no whisky, and no one who would think to help him even if he begged them on his hands and knees, something he wasn’t necessarily above doing, but it was no use. Los Angeles was far from charitable, the people even less so, their money stacked accordingly and with only one priority; themselves. To say it was American, however, would be to give far more credit than was due. On the contrary; Los Angeles was simply the most honest and human of them all.

“You’re not wrong,” said a voice. Chase recognized it instantly.

“_You_.”


	6. The Fly

“Hello Chase,” said the bastard with a smile.

“Fuck you,” said Chase, who wanted to hit him.

“That’s not very nice.”

Chase blew past him without a second thought, struggling to keep his thoughts coherent. Anti didn’t just show up whenever he felt like it. There was nothing accidental about him being here in the proverbial flesh, and whether or not Anti knew it already, that terrified Chase more than anything. He could keep his back to him all he wanted; it didn’t change the fact that he was there. Watching. Waiting.

“To what do I owe the fucking pleasure?” Chase sneered, clenching his fists to keep them from shaking too much.

“Look at me, Chase.”

Chase bit his lip, tasting iron. He turned around slowly.

Anti never raised his voice in person. He always spoke calmly, as he had just now, staring back at him with his own reflection. It never failed to put him on edge, having to watch how impossibly still he was, never matching his own breath as it fluttered precariously in his chest. The only other difference between them was that Anti was always dressed down in black and grey, irregardless of what Chase was wearing. 

Today they looked like they could be brothers.

“I suppose so, yes.” Anti chuckled. Even in person, he always managed to continue Chase’s own thoughts. 

“What do you want?” asked Chase, quieter now.

“Although, in a way, aren’t we already brothers? I mean it’s not like you have any other family members left-”

“Please,” Chase whispered. “Just tell me what you want.”

“-who want _ anything _ to do with you, if they’re not already **dead**_.”_

He felt the words twisting in his gut, one after the other in slow succession until Chase was sure he was bleeding from his stomach, feeling for a wound that wasn’t there in a steadily rising panic until he knew he wasn’t dying. Anti never wanted him dead, but he understood his own pain intimately, using it against him almost to the point of death. He wondered if Anti had simply brought him here to beg, eyeing the balcony just behind him.

For once, Anti said nothing, instead simply watching him with a subtle twist of his lips. No doubt he was listening to it all; his thoughts, his fears, the steady thrum of his heart, the rush of his veins. It was his favourite music, the steady beat of Chase's pain.

Chase took a moment to steady his breath, collecting his thoughts in a mental jar for safekeeping where Anti could at least pick through them undeterred. (as though it would be any real bother; he didn’t exactly care for any courtesy. If anything, it only made Chase even more of a laughingstock than he already was, as he had already been reminded of just a few minutes prior)

“W-why are we h-here,” asked Chase, clenching his fists to keep them from shaking, too.

It was the second time Anti had smiled at him. It made his skin itch.

“Chase,” he teased. “You kno̶w why we’re here.”

“I don’t-”

“Yes, you do.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and suddenly they were standing on the edge together, peering down at all the people several hundred feet below. Chase felt his stomach lurch, refusing to truly acknowledge Anti as something that could touch him as he instead tried to focus on the traffic below…

Chase frowned. Then he went cold.

There was an ambulance pulling up to the curb, unable to look away as the paramedics dispersed around the vehicle, working to keep the patient steady before disappearing with a handful of accompanying nurses and onlookers. Chase didn’t bother asking. He didn’t have to ask. He remembered. He knew. 

This was the night that Francis died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO GET THIS BAD BOY UP BUT WHAT A HOLIDAY TO DO IT ON RIGHT??? If you haven't already, go check out Jack's new vid. Hopefully getting around to some Jameson content soon!! Happy Halloween!!!


	7. Ragdoll

Chase watched in horror as they carried his daughter inside.

“You were there,” he gasped. “You were _ fucking there-” _

“Of course,” said Anti. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He doesn’t know how to respond. How could he? The fact that Anti might just be the one thing in his life that will never go away, no matter what he does. 

Chase wonders momentarily what it would look like if he tried to push him off the roof. Would it even matter? Would he give him the satisfaction of falling, only to show up right behind him like it had never happened? Would it make him a bad person for wanting to kill something that can’t even be killed? Surely it had to mean something, if he had a reason. Anti had always been there, by his own admission, staring back at himself through Anti’s eyes (although it’s kind of hard to tell from this high up) Would that somehow make Anti responsible?

Suddenly Chase wasn’t so sure anymore. 

“I might,” said Anti, interrupting his thoughts. 

“Then again, I might not. Really that all depends on you, Chase.”

“What are you-”

“Do you hate me, Chase?” 

It seemed like such a simple question that Chase had no reason to hesitate the way he did. And yet he couldn’t help himself. It was the first time Anti had ever spoken to him quite so...obviously. Without pretense. It was completely unlike everything he knew about this godforsaken..._ thing _ that had already admitted to living in his own shadow just to watch him drink, cry and piss himself to sleep at night. Nothing was EVER that simple with Anti. 

And yet when he looked at him, really looked at him, Chase saw more of himself in him than he ever had before, like really looking in a mirror. There was none of the cruelty in his eyes that Chase was so used to, but instead he saw himself for who he was reflected back at him, asking him a simple question.

“This isn’t...this isn’t you,” Chase stammered, unable to step down from the ledge in either direction. “This is nothing like you-”

“Isn’t it?” said Anti. “How would you know, Chase?”

“Can you just- say what you fucking mean!?” he cried out, unable to take it any longer.

Chase felt the world give way, twisting tight around him as the sky turned upside down. He felt weightless, breathless--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been 84 years.......


End file.
